Meeting Mr. Wright (16 page)

Nate smiles down at me, one hand gripping the sheets beside my head, the other one possessively splayed across the side of my neck. I reach up and brush my fingers along the corner of his mouth, luxuriating in the feeling of his stubble beneath my fingers. He turns his head, kissing my palm, then he kisses a trail down my wrist, my inner arm, across my breasts, down my stomach. He kneels between my legs and clasps his hand around my ankle, bringing it up to rest on his shoulder. He kisses the inside of my calf and I laugh, which makes him smile against my skin. He kisses his way down to my knee, where he nips a bit of skin between his teeth, then continues down the inside of my thigh, brushing his whiskers along the spots that he knows will make me squirm. I reach up and thread our fingers together, my right hand, his left, and he squeezes my fingers before letting them go.

“Nate,” I whisper, so desperate to feel him in the one place he’s so purposefully ignored. I expect him to tell me to be patient, but he doesn’t. He spreads me open and licks my clit, slowly at first, but he speeds up to match the quickness of my breath. He pushes his fingers inside of me, curling them up when I arch my back. We are an endless circuit of action and reaction; he intently watches me, adjusting his plan on the fly. He doubles-down on the moves that bring me closer to the edge and does away with the ones that don’t. I’m so close,
so close,
but when his blue eyes meet mine as he lovingly strokes my hip with his free hand, a pang of affection strikes me deep in my chest, swelling up and wrapping itself around my heart.

I realize that over the last year or so I’ve allowed myself to become accustomed to fucking; I’ve settled for the simple rush of release, of following a checklist. Do this to get that, get that to feel this. I haven’t been so intimately connected to someone in so long, the feeling is overwhelming. I reach down and run my fingers through Nate’s hair, pressing my head back against the pillow as my orgasm slowly washes over me, warm and wonderful. He slowly rubs his hands up and down my thighs, pressing kisses there as my breathing slows and my heartbeat stops thundering in my ears.

I sit up and unwrap the condom, unrolling it down the length of Nate’s erection. He’s looking at me strangely, like maybe something’s wrong, and absolutely nothing is wrong, but everything is different. I don’t think I have the words to explain it, no matter how much I wish that I did.

“C’mere,” I tell him, crooking my finger.

He leans down, hands planted firmly on either side of my hips. I gently take his face in my hands, letting the tip of my nose skim across his cheekbones, his chin. And then our lips barely touch and we breathe each other in until I move forward little and he does too, our mouths connecting in a kiss that’s long and deep. I pull him down on top of me, letting him settle between my legs.

He looks down at me, eyes swimming with so many emotions. “Callie-”

“Put your arm around me,” I whisper, just wanting him to do what I say without asking me any questions. “Around my back.”

He slides his hand just below my shoulder blades until I can feel is fingers pressing into my side, then he pushes a strand of hair off my face with his free hand. “Are you okay?”

I nod, trying not to cry. I’m okay. I’m more okay than I’ve ever been, actually, but I just
need
this, my way.

I push my hips up, taking Nate by surprise as he slips inside me, and I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him deeper. My arms wind around his shoulders, and he lets out a small, shaky breath as his eyes meet mine.

“Like this, okay?” I say, clinging to him. He barely has any room, but he’ll make it work. “Just like this.”

He nods, not really able to say anything, or maybe there just isn’t anything to say. He presses his forehead to mine as he moves, and my breath catches in my throat as I start to ask him to kiss me. But he knows, he always knows what I need, so his lips meet mine as we rock together, and I hold him like I’m never going to let go. Like I wouldn’t let him go, like I can’t. And I love the way his skin feels against mine, the way his kisses are a little unfocused because I’m making him feel so good that he can’t catch his breath. I love the way he makes my whole body lock up right before I come, but he keeps going, keeps pushing me until I’ve taken every ounce of pleasure from him that I can and my bones are like jelly. He follows soon after, and when we’re both completely sapped of energy and lying in a breathless mess of limbs and bodies, Nate rolls over onto his back, pulling me on top of him. I lie draped across his chest, my head coming to rest in the crook of his neck. I pull myself onto him until every single inch of our skin that can touch is touching.

I want to melt into him, want to fill all the empty spaces inside of him. He kisses my forehead as I draw tiny hearts across his chest with my fingertip. His breathing slows and evens out, but he wraps his arms around me, snuggling me against him, wanting me closer even in his sleep.

I close my eyes and smile. Unlike our first night together in Dallas, this time there isn’t a single part of me that wants to run. Worse than that, I want to stay.

Wanting to stay is the scariest feeling of all.

O
NCE AGAIN,
daylight seems to come much too quickly when I’m lying in Nate’s arms, but this time I’m not running from it. I’m snuggled against his chest, my head resting in the crook of his neck. His fingers run through my hair, gently pulling in a way that would put me back to sleep if I wasn’t so desperate to remember every second of this morning. Our legs are tangled together beneath the sheets, and everything about it feels so natural that I can’t imagine there was a time when I ever felt comfortable anywhere else. But I only let myself dwell on that thought for a second, because it tends to lead me down roads that make me think too much.

“What’s your favorite breakfast food?” Nate asks, twirling the ends of my hair around his finger.

“It’s a tie,” I tell him, enjoying the beat of his heart beneath my hand, where it’s splayed across his chest.

“Between what?”

“Between my desire for delicious food and my desire to live past forty.”

“So what are they?” He presses a kiss against my forehead, his stubble deliciously rough against my skin.

“Well, first there’s bacon, I mean…obviously.”

“Mmmm, bacon.”

I like the way Nate’s voice sounds with my ear pressed against his chest.

“Bacon for breakfast, bacon for lunch, bacon for dinner. Bacon for snack time,” I say. “Bacon, bacon, bacon.”

“So what’s the other favorite?” he asks, quietly laughing.

“Raisin Bran. I love it, I can’t help myself,” I say, reaching over to twine my fingers with his. Everything about him is so warm, it’s impossible for me to not touch him, not want to be near to him. “It’s good for a healthy heart.”

“Fiber is important,” he agrees, bringing my fingers up to his lips. He presses a kiss there, and I look up at him just in time to catch his smile.

“Regularity and all that. Plus, raisins are pretty awesome.”

Nate laughs. “I can tell this conversation is taking a Wright family turn,” he says, and I think back to the conversations I’ve witnessed with his family that inevitably go somewhere gross.

“Ask me something else then.”

“Is anything off limits?”

I can feel the change in his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest. Maybe that should be a warning to me to say that yes, there are some things off limits, but I feel like an open book to him. I don’t know why exactly, but I don’t feel compelled to hide anything right now.

“Nope, nothing,” I reply.

He hesitates for a few seconds, and I feel my pulse quicken.

“Tell me about your family,” he says quietly. “You know all about mine, but I don’t know anything about yours.”

“To be fair, I just kind of stumbled into your family,” I reply, trying to buy myself some time.

“My mom told me that she wants to take you with her on a trip to New York. That’s a little more than a stumble.”

“I think she felt bad because I was standing there when she asked Gabby to go.” I hope he can’t hear the undercurrent of disappointment in my voice.

“Nah,” he says, skimming his fingertips along my spine. The simple action makes all of my nerves stand on end, makes it difficult for me to concentrate. “She’s not swayed by guilt. If she asked you to go, it’s because she wants you there. And you’re avoiding my question.” He plants another kiss on the top of my head. “You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.”

Strangely enough, the fact that he gives me an out makes me want to give him an answer. “What do you want to know?” I ask, looking up and meeting his gaze.

“Everything.”

That
would
be his answer. “My mother was born Ella Mae Sampson in Plano, Texas during a heatwave in the summer of nineteen sixty-five.”

Nate laughs. “Smartass.”

I take a minute to gather my thoughts before I start talking again. “My mom, she’s short like I am, and we look kind of alike. She’s got this pretty blonde hair that’s kind of wavy, and she always wears it pulled back, away from her face. She’s crazy smart, and she worked really hard to put herself through college after my dad left us. She’s a vice president at a marketing firm. Actually, she was going to come this weekend, but she had to go on a trip for work at the last minute.” Even though I’ve only been gone for a few days, talking about my mother makes me miss her so much that it hurts.

“She sounds amazing.”

“She is. She’s one of the most dynamic people I’ve ever met. I honestly don’t know what my life would be like if I didn’t have her.”

“Your dad, he left?”

I nod. “He did. He hung around a while after the divorce. He came to see me every other weekend for about a year. Then one day I waited for him to pick me up, but he never came. I haven’t seen him since.”

I can feel the hitch in Nate’s breathing, and his arms tighten around me. “How old were you when this happened?”

“Eleven. It was difficult for me to accept at the time,” I admit. I’ve never told anyone this, not even Ethan. “I didn’t want to believe that he could just pick up and leave me like that. So I used to pretend that he realized he made a mistake and came back, and that he would watch me from afar. Like, I pretended that he was in the crowds at the mall, in the throng of parents that sat in the bleachers during my softball games. It was really pathetic.”

“It’s not pathetic,” Nate says, his voice kind of broken. “But I’ll never understand how anyone could abandon their child like that.”

“I think it’s easy for some people.” I trace a tiny heart on his chest with my fingertip to distract myself.

“How could it be?”

“I don’t know,” I tell him. “But the scary thing is that sometimes you don’t know who those people are until it’s too late.”

“Callie,” he whispers, so quietly that I almost can’t hear it.

“He tried to get in touch with me a couple of years ago,” I admit. This is yet another thing that I haven’t told anyone, not even my own mother.

“What’d you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.” There’s an unexpected wave of shame that hits me when I admit it; it comes from nowhere, nearly taking my breath away. “I just never called him back.”

“Not even to tell him how much he hurt you?”

I let out a small laugh. “Why would I want him to know that?”

Nate shifts onto his side and slides his hand down until his arm is wrapped around my waist. Even though our bodies aren’t in contact the way they were before, this position seems much more intimate. I can’t hide from him here; his eyes are searching mine.

“I think it’s good to let people know when they’ve hurt you,” he says, and there isn’t a hint of judgment in his tone. “How else do they learn?”

“Why is it my responsibility to get him to be a better person?” I try not to sound as hateful as I feel.

“It’s not,” he replies, a sad smile on his lips. “Maybe I have an idealized view of the world, I don’t know.”

He reaches over and cups my cheek, and I close my eyes as I lean into him. He definitely has an idealized view of the world, but I like that about him, especially since I’m cynical enough for the both of us.

“Nah,” I reply, attempting to tease him. “Not you.”

“Your feelings matter, Callie. You know, I’ve been an asshole in my life…more times than I care to admit. And yeah, I knew then that I was behaving like an asshole, but when I finally found out how it really affected those people—when they told me how badly I’d hurt them—it changed me. And, you know, the ones that I hurt, some of them don’t get the benefit of seeing me become a better person. But it was those people who taught me how to treat the people I love.” He swallows hard when he’s finished speaking, and I can tell that he’s admitted to more than he meant to.

I’m not sure if he said what he said because he wants me to know that he’s made mistakes and he’s learned from them, or because he thinks somehow I can help my father become a better man. Maybe he thinks it’ll help me to vent, or maybe he just said it to say it. But there’s something about the sentiment that touches this disillusioned place inside of me, that makes me feel the faintest glimmer of hope, however fleeting it may be.